


Butterfly Effect

by shepavellan



Series: Hide Your Face So The World Can Never Find You [2]
Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alcohol, Cinderella Elements, Costume Parties & Masquerades, F/M, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Slow Dancing, Wall Sex, nothing to do with the movie or theory unless you squint, oops we caught feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-07-27 04:21:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20039842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shepavellan/pseuds/shepavellan
Summary: Krista is a serving girl in the palace with a minor talent for magic who - for the first time since beginning her work there - decides to attend the masquerade ball rather than work for the night.  She doesn't expect the Count, the man she secretly loves, to even notice her, much less single her out.  Certainly not pine after her.What a difference a night can make.





	1. Chapter 1

They say people only show their true faces when they were a mask. That our effort to hide ourselves, in the end, is what strips us bare of disguise entirely.

The metaphor seemed particularly apt to Krista at that moment, for as she walked into the ballroom, draped in layers of fabric with a mask hiding nearly all of her face, she’d never felt quite so naked.

She took a deep breath, steadying herself. Only an hour ago the disguise had felt empowering, and she’d been giddy with excitement. Now, walking into the palace that she’d called home for the better part of five years, she felt out of place and nearly gave in to the urge to bolt. The palace had been transformed for the evening, colorful fabrics strung up along the walls and bannisters, lights dazzling and the air perfumed with both the scent of food and flowers. The Count never failed to go all out for his birthday each year, the masquerade a night all looked forward to. While many of the servants - such as her - chose to attend the party, others were happy to work for the evening instead, enjoying the extra pay they received. Despite his callousness for the majority of the year, the Count was notoriously generous on his birthday, and there was no shortage of workers and entertainers alike, many simply eager to display their skills at the popular event in hopes of drawing future customers.

Krista had worked at the palace herself for the past several years during the masquerade, but at last she’d worked up the courage to attend instead, and had spent months working on her gown and mask, while simultaneously studying spells to assist her disguise. Her magic was rudimentary, but she’d been pleasantly surprised to find she had a talent for illusion, and had worked it into her appearance for the evening. Swaths of vivid orange and stripes of black in the pattern of butterflies’ wings made up the folds of her skirt, ending just past her knees and revealing her gold flats as she walked. The torso was sleeveless, leaving her arms bare but for black lace fingerless gloves. Her mask was made of black and orange filigree, one side made to look like a butterfly’s wings as well, the edge of the bottom wing occasionally brushing her jaw while the top wing stretched just past the top of her head. While that would likely have been enough to keep her identity hidden, she’d used magic to color her brown hair black for the evening; the spell would wear off with the sunrise. For added effect, she’d also disguised her voice slightly. It would come out a bit raspier than normal, and she’d even managed to magic a slight accent into it as well. A good thing too, she was no good at faking them (and doubted she’d have remembered to do so for an entire night.) All in all, she was quite certain no one would recognize her, but it didn’t stop her from feeling like eyes were on her as she stepped into the grand room.

A brief glance around however proved that to be untrue. While a handful of guests turned curious gazes to her for a moment, they did not linger, and to her delight she found she could place hardly any of their faces herself. The idea of anonymity was enticing, a chance to come out of her shell and be someone she normally wasn’t. Krista was a quiet person by nature, the type most ignored or simply didn’t notice, and while she was normally quite at peace with that, at times she longed for the chance to break free. The butterfly motif had been a conscious reflection of that.

Across the crowded room there was a burst of laughter, and Krista turned to catch the sight of a pair of horns peeking out over the top of many heads. The Count’s usual mask, one of the few who could be easily recognized in the sea of faces, likely by design. Krista was all too familiar with his desire to be seen, and knew from experience he would be surrounded by courtiers and nobles alike all night, all vying for his attention and praise by giving him the same. She let her gaze linger on the group for a moment, before shaking her head and turning to put some distance between herself and the Count. She knew better than to even attempt to gain his attention. It would be a fruitless endeavor, and it was quite possible he’d see through her charade.

Despite her near invisibility, Krista had worked for the Count for many years now, and more closely than she believed he realized. Quiet and unassuming as she was, numerous times she had been in the same room as him, cleaning or attending to some task, and thus had seen sides of him she doubted anyone else had. She knew the way he spoke to his dogs like they were family, spoiling them and giving them kind smiles she saw nowhere else, despite proudly touting them as vicious war hounds around others. More than once he’d settled into a chair before a fire with wine at the end of a long day and had spoken at length of the day’s stresses, never once glancing in her direction. She’d assumed at first he did this with all the servants, as he didn’t seem to notice, or much care, for her presence, but inquiring had only sparked confusion among the others. Evidently it was a unique experience to her alone.

Sometimes though, he would say nothing at all, merely staring off, clearly a million miles away, and had such a lonely, forlorn look on his face that Krista’s heart would ache at the sight. She suspected she was the only one who’d ever seen such a face, and was growing quite certain that she knew him better than anyone else in the palace, despite the fact that he knew nothing at all about her; he likely didn’t even know her name.

Loathe though she was to admit it, her fool heart had grown to care for him deeply. She was far from stupid though, and didn’t pretend he would ever feel the same way about her. She was one in a million faces he saw every day, and nothing but someone rare and unique was ever going to draw his eye, if that were even possible. She’d entertained some fantasies of him singling her out among the others as she’d made her gown and practiced her magic, but was well aware they were just that. Fantasies.

Still, best to put as much space as possible between them, lest she be tempted to do something rash.

The night wore on for a couple of hours, and Krista found herself growing bolder both from the mask and the glasses of champagne she’d imbibed. She’d danced with multiple partners, including a laughing Portia, whom she’d delighted in flirting with as they twirled about the floor. The handmaiden was shortly in the arms of the Countess however, and Krista watched in amusement as her friend blushed madly as they danced. So caught up in her fondness for the moment, she did not notice the figure walking up behind her.

“I see a butterfly has wandered into my home,” a sly voice said in her ear.

Krista nearly jumped out of her skin, spinning to see the grinning - though masked - face of the Count not but a few inches from her own, and instinctively backed away a step and averted her eyes. She remembered a moment later she was not a servant that night, and disguised the move as though she were glancing around to see where he’d come from. Oh, where were the courtiers?! She was supposed to be avoiding him!

“Looking for my adoring public?” the Count asked, unaware of her inner panic. He gestured with his chin the far side of the ballroom, where a group of sneering masked nobles were glaring in her direction. “They were so busy throwing themselves at my feet I couldn’t walk without tripping over one of them. I told them to find someone else to bother - I want to enjoy my party!” He then turned back to her, and winked. “And my lovely guests of course.”

Krista felt a rush of warmth reach her face and thanked the Gods for her elaborate disguise. She knew what she should do - demure, excuse herself, and hightail it out of his sight before he focused too much more of his attention on her. This was no time for girlish fantasies of being swept off her feet or thinking he found her special. Tomorrow she’d be right back to where she’d begun - a nameless serving girl he’d no interest in, and it would be best to remember that.

But the mask made her bold, and before she could stop herself, Krista instead found herself saying with a coy smile: “By all accounts my Lord, you quite enjoy people throwing themselves at your feet.” Then with a smirk and a glance at his heeled boots “And I daresay many would be happy to have you step over - or even on them - if you wished it.”

The Count threw back his head and laughed, turning to swipe two glasses of champagne off the tray of a passing servant as his chuckles subsided. “Oh I _like_ you,” he said, passing her a flute and downing nearly all of his in one swallow. She took a substantially smaller sip, mindful of the amount she’d drank earlier. “Something tells me you aren’t one of those people, however.”

An undignified snort escaped her before she could rein it in. “No, no I am not.” Then, with a grin, she added “And I’m afraid my shoes aren’t really made for stepping on people either, so that cuts that option out.”

He chuckled heartily, finishing his champagne and glancing at the musicians as they finished the current song and began a new one after a short round of scattered applause. “Are they appropriate for dancing though?” he asked, meeting her eyes with a charming smile.

Damn it all, her heart _fluttered._  


She stalled with another sip of her champagne, mind spinning (maybe she shouldn’t have taken the drink after all?) On the one hand, she’d already taken this too far and really shouldn’t say yes. On the other hand, she was already in it, and there really wasn’t a polite way to decline the Count, was there?

Well...if all she had was this night, then she would take it. She’d dance with him once, and cherish the memory of him looking at her like she was the most fascinating thing in the room for as long as it took for her to get over him, every time he looked right through her. On the occasional nights where she found herself terribly lonely and feared she would never find someone, she’d look back fondly on exactly this.

“They may be,” she said, barely stifling a nervous giggle and how coquettish she sounded. “Why don’t we find out?”

He threw her another wide grin, flagged down another servant to hand off their drinks, and whisked her out to the floor, tugging her close to him at once, so they were chest to chest. Now there were _definitely_ eyes on her. She tried to give him a stern look, but the effect was rather ruined by the grin that kept tugging at her lips. He only had an unashamed smirk as they began to step in time to the music.

“Have you ever been here before?” he asked as they moved to the gentle rhythm. Her heart jumped into her throat for a moment, thinking he had recognized her. “I thought I knew most everyone who attends my parties, but I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

A relieved huff of breath left her lungs. “No, this is the first year I’ve attended.”

“Oh?” he surprised her by suddenly sending her into a spin, and when he pulled her back she was momentarily off balance from the action, leaning heavily on his chest as he leered at her. “And how do you find the ball?”

Once again moving her feet, Krista bid her racing pulse to slow. “Marvelous so far. The entertainment is spectacular, and I admit, I do love dancing.”

He lifted her then into another spin, and arrested by his gaze as she was, she didn’t notice the others dancers slowing and stopping to watch. Lowering her, they were close enough for her to feel his warm breath on her cheek before he pulled her into movement again. “You’re quite skilled,” he complimented.

She grinned cheekily. “Not so bad yourself,” she said, making him chuckle once more. He was admittedly a more accomplished dancer than she, moving with a fluidity she would normally never dream of matching. But somehow, she felt utterly in sync with him, as though he could do just about anything and she would react accordingly, almost predicting his movements.

As though hearing her thoughts, he twirled her outwards, catching her by the hand at the end of her spin, arms outstretched towards one another, and pulled her back in. The swell of the music came to a brief pause just as they came together again, lips nearly close enough to touch. Then he was once more pushing her back ward, stepping in time to the song. Her hand tightened on his shoulder at the feeling of his fingers trailing her spine.

“I think you’ll find I have many talents,” he said on another grin.

_Oh, she was in trouble._

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Such as?” she asked, daring him to reveal the turn of his thoughts in front of his many guests.

The music reached its final notes then, and just as it came to a close he dipped her low bending her over his metal arm. She could actually feel the ends of her hair brushing the floor.

“Why don’t you come away with me and find out?” he said quietly to her, barely audible over the applause that had erupted for them.

Her pulse thundered in her chest. She had promised herself only this one dance. One moment to hold close to her heart in the years to come. She needed to say no. To pull away now, before it was too late.

She lifted her head the barest inch, bringing their faces achingly closer; close enough that their lips just brushed as she breathed: _“Yes.”_

* * *

Their exit from the dance hall was a giddy one. It wasn’t at all subtle, both of them making for the interior of the palace without so much as a goodbye to any of the other guests. Plenty of eyes had still been on them. She was fairly certain a tall red-headed man had whistled at them as they’d rushed by. By the time they were alone in the corridors, they were breathless, laughing from the impropriety of it all, and Krista was still half-giggling when he pressed her up against a wall, arms caging her in.

He towered over her, imposing and inviting all at once, and Krista bit her lip just to see him watch the movement, laughter catching in her throat once more when he did. Who would be the first to break, she wondered; who would give in to the desire to kiss, to touch?

“My Lord,” she said in a faux scandalized tone. “This is _terribly_ inappropriate - dragging me out here, away from prying eyes? One might think you were intending to take advantage of me.”

He chuckled low in his throat, the sound low and pleasing, and leaned down to her. She thrilled momentarily, thinking he meant to kiss her, but instead he bent to nuzzle at her neck, drawing his nose up towards her jaw slowly. She sighed, tilting her head, still smiling.

“No, certainly not,” he said , breath fanning her throat. “What ever would give you that idea?” He then crowded closer to her, their bodies pressed against one another, not an inch of space between them. She just barely caught a whimper from escaping.

“Oh? My mistake, how rude of me,” she replied, breathless now. It was growing harder to be clever as his lips trailed her exposed skin. “Surely you only meant to - _mm_ \- to show me the artwork here in the halls?”

He chortled once more, amused. “I had,” he said, nipping at her earlobe. “But it all pales in comparison to you.”

Oh Gods, the line was so unbearably cheesy she couldn’t hold back the giggles anymore. Giving in, she gripped the lapels of his jacket and pulled him up from her throat, pressing her lips to his. Dam broken, he threaded his fingers into the locs of her hair, moving her to an angle that suited him. He nipped at her bottom lip until she opened for him, and plundered her mouth, drawing a moan from her. Krista twined her arms around his neck, losing herself in him entirely.

Without warning, he bent and hooked his arms under her thighs, lifting her. She wrapped her legs around his waist on instinct, and clutched at his shoulders, a breathless giggle leaving her. He caught it in another smiling kiss, pressing his body flush to hers. With her weight balanced between his hips and the wall, his hands were free to roam, tracing the neckline of her gown before following them with his mouth, then tugging the material away from her chest with his teeth. Krista arched her back into his attentions, threading her fingers through his blonde locs. He breathed warmly over her pebbled flesh for a moment before laving his tongue over her breast, and she groaned in encouragement. He pulled her nipple between his lips to suckle for a moment, before paying the same attention to her opposite breast.

Anticipation mounting, Krista dug her heels into his lower back, trying to pull him even closer, if that were possible. He grinned against her wet flesh.

"Impatient, butterfly?"

"Yes," she chuckled breathlessly, unashamed. Was it him or the alcohol inspiring such bravado, she wondered. It didn't matter.

He traced the fingers of his good arm up her thigh and under her skirt, lingering for a moment just before the apex of her thighs. Krista grinned and bent towards his neck, nipping his earlobe. _"Tease,"_ she accused without venom.

He firmly bit and sucked at her exposed throat, drawing a whimper from her, and distracting her briefly from his fingers pushing her smalls to the side so they could glide over her slippery folds. She shivered at the first touch of his hand, straining her hips uselessly forward. There was not an inch of space between them, and he had her pressed tightly to the wall. She'd no choice but to endure his sweet torture.

And torture it was, for though he traced her lips and dipped the tios of his fingers just barely inside her, he only circled her clit, not so much as grazing it no matter how she whimpered and writhed. Feeling as though she were about to come out of her skin, Krista bent and bit his neck much the same way he had hers.

He actually _growled,_ and finally traced the pad of his finger over her pearl, and she arched against him once more, practically purring for him. He continued to stroke her for a moment before sliding one, then two fingers inside her, pumping languidly. His thumb continued to trace circles over her, speeding gradually as she grew closer. She breathed his name into the air, then cried out as she crested, white light bursting behind her closed eyelids.

Coming down from her high, she blinked her eyes open when she felt movement between her legs, and realized he was undoing his belt. He paused for a moment, meeting her eyes, asking for permission. She smiled and nodded at him, surprised and pleased that he would at this stage. He grinned all the same, looking boyish and young for a moment, before it turned wicked once more. He paused in his movements to grip the back of her neck and pull her in for an enthusiastic kiss, which she returned with a pleased hum, before returning to his task. Freed, he pressed his hand to the wall beside her, leaning close.

"I am going to make you see stars, little butterfly," he promised breathlessly against her lips, and began to press forward into her. They both moaned at the sensation, Krista letting her head drop back against the wall. He didn't allow it for long though: his fingers wound into her hair and pulled her back, coaxing her to meet his eyes. She didn't have to be told to hold his gaze - she found herself unable to look away, didn't want to. As he began to move she couldn't resist the urge to reach up and cup his cheek, and to her surprise he leaned into the touch, pressing a kiss to her palm. She smiled and continued to touch him, trailing the backs of her fingers along his cheekbone, her nails through his hair, dug them into his shoulder as he moved harder, faster. Still holding his gaze, she began to whimper, needing more, heat building within her again. Understanding wordlessly, he reached between her legs once more, drawing his fingers over her in firm, tight circles.

Feeling the edge coming swiftly, Krista bent forward, kissing him fervently. He groaned into her mouth, sliding his tongue along hers, twining them in a dance all their own. At last she felt herself falling, keening from pleasure as he pressed tightly to her, chasing her down. She pulled away at last for air, and pressed her forehead to his as they panted for breath.

Outside in the ballroom, she heard the bells toll the hour.

It was getting late.

"Come to my rooms," he said into the space between them, as if he could sense her pulling away already. Perhaps he could.

She pulled back and gave him a wistful smile, wishing she could. He frowned a little, but allowed her to begin to disentangle herself without complaint. Tugging her clothes back into place after being righted on the ground, she looked up at him.

"I can't stay," she said. "There will be...much for me to do tomorrow." That was true, at least.

"Then tell me your name," he said, surprising her by reaching out to take her hand. "I'd like to see you again."

Her heart fluttered, thrilled, but she shook her head. "I...I really can't."

A pout took his features, and she had to fight the temptation to kiss it away, to let him whisk her up to his rooms. But she was certain, if he were to discover who she was...this would be over.

What would he ever want with a servant?

"Why not?" he asked petulantly.

She smiled again, and cupped his cheek once more, sighing with bittersweet pleasure when he pressed into her touch once more. "You wouldn't like who I am," she said honestly, undeterred by his scowl. "It's better this way, really."

He.sighed heavily, though it came out more like a huffy. "Will you come back next year?" he asked then, hopefully.

"If you'd like me to," she replied easily, though she was quite certain he wouldn't remember her by then.

"That'll have to be enough, then," he replied, still frowning slightly. He brought her fingers up to his lips, kissing her knuckles, lingering for a moment too long to call it chaste. "Goodnight butterfly," he then grinned wickedly once more. "Let's hope the year passes quickly."

She laughed, unable to help herself. "Let's hope it does."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dammit this was supposed to be a one shot.


	2. Chapter 2

A large yawn stretched Krista’s jaw, gaining Portia’s attention as they swept the ballroom floor.

“Up late?” she asked, a knowing tone in her voice.

Krista chuckled. “Yes, but so were you,” she teased as her friend gave a yawn of her own.

Portia smiled and waved her fingers in a dismissive manner before returning to her task. She attended the party each year. “Were you there last night? I don’t remember seeing you, but I guess that is sort of the point.”

“I was,” Krista said as casually as possible, then couldn’t hold back a coy grin. “You and I danced.”

Portia snapped her head back up, shocked. “We did?! Who - oh!” She suddenly gasped with realization, beaming. “Oh oh oh! You were the - ?!”

Krista cut her off with a shush, glancing around furtively, breathing a sigh of relief when she saw no one. “Yeah, that was me.”

“You - but - there - ” Portia sputtered for a moment, then lowered her voice substantially. “You danced with the Count!”

Krista barely contained a hysterical giggle. _You have no idea._ “I know.” She couldn’t quite keep away the pleased smile from curling her lips.

_“Wow,”_ Portia breathed, eyes wide. “We were all wondering who that was.” At Krista’s slightly panicked look, she smiled and waved her fingers again. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. But everyone’s talking about you!” She then shot Krista a sly grin. “Word is he’s been sulking in his room all day. What did you two _do_ when you left?”

“Portia!” she exclaimed, face flaming.

Portia giggled. “Sorry. But really, I think you got to him. It’s not like him to hide away all day.”

That was true. It was late afternoon by then, and even with as late as they had all been up, he wasn’t the type to go long without being around others. She’d started to get a little worried actually.

“Does he know?” Portia asked.

“No,” Krista replied, bending her head to her work, letting her hair hide her face. “He asked me who I was but...how could I tell him?”

Portia patted her shoulder in sympathy. “He might not have minded,” she offered helpfully, sounding a little doubtful herself.

Krista snorted. “Yeah.” Then, with a glance at the setting sun out the window, continued. “Actually, it’s about time for me to go clean his study. I’ll see you later, Portia.”

Portia gave her a wave as Krista trod up the stairs and towards his wing, yawning again with a stretch. She’d had to get up early to begin the yearly cleaning process after the masquerade as it was, and she was beginning to feel drained. _At least he’s apparently in his room,_ Krista thought gratefully as she neared his study. _I’m not sure I could face him normally right now._

She opened the door and grimaced at the squeak of the hinges, mentally noting they needed oiling, then froze when she saw the room was occupied. Though his armchair was facing away from her, she could see the ends of his crossed legs, boots gleaming in the light of the fire. The dogs were curled up with one another in front of the hearth, and Melchior gave a single wag of his tail at her appearance.

Krista swallowed hard and did her best to keep a straight face, walking past him to begin her regular dusting, refusing to so much as glance at him.

“Ah, there you are. I was wondering when you’d show up.” Did her heart just stop? She was pretty sure it just stopped. “Would you fetch me that bottle of wine over there? This one’s nearly empty.”

Krista gulped again, letting out a careful breath of relief as she spied the bottle he’d mentioned. She had thought he’d recognized her. Gripping it by the neck - perhaps a bit too tightly - she walked over to him and placed to bottle on the small side table beside him, where another nearly drained bottle rested, a half-full glass in his hand. She let her hair hide her face again as she uncorked the bottle for him.

Clearing her throat awkwardly, she returned to cleaning, unable to resist a little smile when Melchior gave her another lazy wag as she strode past. She heard the Count chuckle.

“He seems to like you,” he said warmly. “You don’t sneak him treats when I’m not around, do you?”

She _did_ actually (well, pomegranates) but she wasn’t about to tell him that. “Of course not, sir,” she said demurely, keeping her gaze on her work.

He only hummed in response, sounding unconvinced, but didn’t comment. She had expected him to begin rambling to her as he often did - the day after the masquerade usually consisted of him telling her of conversations he’d had, funny anecdotes - once or twice some raunchy tales she’d blushed severely at - but he was uncharacteristically quiet. After some time she risked a sly peek at him from behind her curls. He was draped in the chair, cheek squished against one fist, the elbow resting on the arm of the chair. His metal arm held the wine glass at an angle, and he gazed into the fire with what she could only call a pout.

He really _was_ sulking.

Pressing her lips together to stifle a giggle, she returned to her work, warmed by the idea that he might be missing her. It wouldn’t last for long, she was certain, but it was nice to be wanted all the same, if only for a short time.

Eventually, she turned to leave, folding up her rag and shoving it into one of her apron’s pockets, when his voice stopped her.

“Wait.”

She froze again, heart thudding, and finally managed to turn back to look at him properly. He’d turned his head to her, brow a bit furrowed.

“Yes?” she replied, trying to keep a tremor out of her voice. Abruptly she missed the bravery her mask had given her.

“What’s your name?” he asked, surprising her. “I...don’t think I’ve ever asked.”

She blinked, honestly shocked. She wasn’t sure he’d even been aware the same person cleaned his rooms each day. “Krista,” she said simply, hoping she didn’t look as surprised as she felt.

“Hmm,” was his only reply, before turning back to the fire. She was pretty sure he didn’t think she heard his muttered “At least _someone’s_ willing to tell me…”

Pressing her lips together again, Krista rushed out of the room, unable to stifle her giggles once she was safely down the halls.

* * *

Many months later, talk of the masquerade had mostly faded. In the beginning, Portia had been right; rumors of who the butterfly-masked person might have been had flown about, and she’d often shot Krista conspiratorial grins when she was sure no one was looking. The Count had eventually shook off his forlornness, which had taken longer than Krista expected, and was back to his boisterous self, causing many a groaned complaint from various servants.

To her great surprise, he’d begun referring to her by her name often, and once or twice had asked her to sit with him at the end of the day, rather than cleaning while he talked. When she’d been brave enough to ask why, he’d told her it was strange to talk to someone without them looking at you, that he wanted to have an actual conversation. After that he’d begun to ask her occasional questions about herself, and later on proved to even remember what she’d said.

She was utterly baffled by the whole thing, and had told no one about it. She wasn’t sure she even believed it, why would anyone else?

Every so often, when rummaging for clothes in her wardrobe, she’d glance at the butterfly gown, where it would remain tucked safely away until the following year, and sigh with a fond little smile. He’d no doubt forgotten all about the stranger in the butterfly mask by that point, but she’d never forget the way he’d looked at her then, their dance. And then their _dance._

She’d then feel her face heat furiously, and get dressed in a rush, pushing the memories from her mind.

* * *

“I said _no.”_

Melchior and Mercedes sat at Krista’s face giving her the best puppy eyes they possibly could, occasionally glancing to the bowl of pomegranates on the table and then back at her. She grimaced, heart twisting. They both knew she’d give in eventually - those eyes were _lethal._

“Oh..._fine,”_ she finally conceded on a sigh, and smiled a little at how they wiggled in excitement as she reached for the fruits. “Don’t say I never gave you anything,” she muttered as she rolled a fruit towards each of them. “And definitely don’t tell your master.”

“Do you often teach them to lie to me?”

Krista squeaked and spun around to see the Count leaning against the door frame, arms folded and lips curled in an amused smirk.

“I - uh - that is - er -” Krista sputtered, body locked still from nerves. She could hear the dogs ravenously devouring the pomegranates behind her.

He chuckled and rolled his eyes good-naturedly at her. “Relax,” he chided, and leaned down as the hounds bounded over to him, licking their chops happily. “Did you two get a treat? Did you?” he ran his hands through their fur as they circled his legs happily. Krista brought a hand to her mouth, trying to cover her smile at the sing-song tone he used with them. “Yes you did, didn’t you,” he then looked up at her. “No wonder they like you so much.”

Relaxing a little, as he didn’t seem angry, Krista replied: “I hope you don’t mind. They’re...persuasive.”

He laughed at that. “They are. At least you’re not afraid of them - everyone else seems to be.”

She was tempted to mention that was because he boasted about how vicious they were, but refrained. “Well. They _are_ war hounds. That can make people nervous.” She averted her gaze when he met her eyes, tacking on: “Sir.”

He hummed thoughtfully, absentmindedly scratching behind Mercedes’ ears. “That doesn’t mean they can’t be friendly. I want people to respect them, but not be afraid.” He looked at her again. “Why aren’t you?”

She shrugged. “I suppose because I’ve seen how happy they are whenever you’re around. I’ve seen them take down game before too of course, and it’s impressive, but when they’re with you…” she bit her lip, trying to hold in a grin and utterly failing. “Well. They kind of turn into giant puppies.”

He laughed again, nodding (was she crazy or had he been looking at her mouth when she’d bit her lip? No, surely not. Silly, wishful thinking.) “Well then we’ll just have to show people how playful you two can be, won’t we?” he said, stroking their heads.

Pleased, Krista returned to her work, leaving him to coo at his dogs.

* * *

The weather had grown cold, the year had turned, and at last, the masquerade was again upon Vesuvia. Jittery anticipation seemed to float through the very air of the palace - or maybe that was just Krista’s imagination. Nerves had set her fingers to twisting all day, and she had decided against going half a dozen times, both afraid he would and wouldn’t remember her. She was hardly the first tryst he’d ever had on his birthday - honestly, it was rather expected by this point. Portia, bless her, had listened to her nervous chatter all day, and calmed her down each time she chickened out. Eventually she had even decided to get ready with her, hoping to allay her fears.

“How did you do this on your own last year?” she questioned, tightening the laces of Krista’s bodice.

“Magic,” Krista replied simply, trying not to fidget.

“Oh, of course,” she said as she finished, and turned so that Krista could help her with the ties of her own gold trimmed gown. “You look so different with your hair black! Did you use magic to change your voice too?”

“I did,” she replied, loosening the ties a bit when Portia let out a small _oof._ “Have you ever tried magic?”

“No,” she said sounding surprised. “Could I?”

“Oh yes, anyone’s capable,” Krista replied on a smile. “Some are better at it than others, but I bet you’d be great.”

“Oh I’d love to learn!” she said happily, earning a chuckle. She peered over her shoulder. “Still nervous?”

Krista sighed as she finished. “Yes. I don’t know what I’ll do if he recognizes me. Or if he doesn’t.” She frowned, pulling her gloves on.

“Recognizes you from last year, or recognizes you as...well, you?”

“Either!”

Portia gripped her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze with a smile. “I’m sure everything will be okay. And anyway, if he does remember you, I bet you’ll get another _dance,”_ she said with a wink.

Krista shoved her playfully. “You’re terrible.”

Giggling, Portia leaned up and kissed her cheek. “C’mon, we’ll be late,” and proceeded to drag her out of the room.

* * *

Standing at the entrance to the ballroom, Krista drew a deep breath, a sense of déjà vu overcoming her. Once again, she felt watched, though this time she was pretty certain she was indeed drawing attention, if only due to her spectacle last year. A cursory glance did not reveal the sight of the Count, and Krista took a steadying breath. It was still early yet, he likely hadn't arrived. Was that better or worse? She wasn't sure.

Grimacing at her own fear, she swiped a champagne flute from a passing waiter and downed it in one gulp, ignoring the stares she got from nearby guests. She needed to calm down.

Eventually, the Countess ended up asking her for a dance, and the familiar motions of the waltz helped to ease her. Portia coaxed her into a dance next, and afterwards introduced Krista to her brother, who looked familiar, though she wasn't sure why. After a dance with him she was considerably more relaxed, and smiling from her friends' banter and good nature. After some time lingering around the edges of the ballroom for a break, she thought to find the dining room to try some of the food she'd missed out on the previous year, and began to wander towards the exit.

She never made it however.

Halfway there, she glanced out over the throng of dancers, and for a moment the crowd parted just enough that she could see across the room. There, surrounded once more by shameless courtiers and nobles alike, stood the Count, horned mask covering the top half of his face and not at all disguising his bored expression. In that same moment, he turned to look her way, and their eyes met. The crowd then merged once more, obscuring him from view.

Krista's heart leapt into her throat.

The contact had been too brief for her to get an idea of what he had been thinking when he saw her. Had he recognized her? Did he want to see her, if so? Was he coming this way? Her eyes darted to the exit, considering making a run for it while the crowd offered her cover. But something told her he was across the floor wanting to see her just as badly as she did him. Wishful thinking, surely. The silly fantasies of a smitten young girl who wanted to be special.

Still, she did not leave.

Instead, after a steadying breath, she began to walk across the ballroom, through the crowd, until she came to the edge of the dancers, peering across the way. Just as a couple spun by, she saw him, halting much the same way she had on the other side as they caught sight of one another. And - oh yes, he remembered her, if the way his eyes darkened was anything to go by.

As though pulled together by some invisible force, they began to step toward each other, dancers weaving easily around them. When at last they met in the center of the room, neither of them spoke, simply gazing at one another as the song drew to a close. Krista could hear the hushed whispers around them in the brief silence as guests caught sight of them. She pushed the thought of them away.

The music began anew, something faster, something _sinful,_ and they each raised a hand, palms meeting in the middle as they began to circle each other.

"I wasn't sure you'd come," he said to her at last, not breaking her gaze.

"I said I would," she replied with a small smile, remembering his irritation at her anonymity.

"I am glad," he admitted, as she turned so his chest was to her back, her hands resting gently in both of his as they stepped in time. "I've thought about that night often."

Her face warmed as heat unfurled in her belly, the memory of teeth on her neck and fingers sliding up her thighs having plagued her many a night as well. She spun in his hold and draped an arm around his neck as he took a step back to bear her weight, one of her legs hooking around his calf. Just close enough to be inappropriate. She leaned further forward still, nearly letting their lips touch. "As have I," she murmured, knowing he could hear. Then they righted themselves, stepping in time once more, his hand firm around her waist as though he thought to keep her from flying away. "After all," she continued, and shot him a cheeky grin. "There was such lovely art in the halls."

He threw her a wide smile back, spinning her out and pulling her back close before replying "To be quite honest, it's the music that catches my memory most."

Oh? Her suspicious confusion must have shown on her face, because he chuckled and continued: "Well. You sang so beautifully for me."

_Oh._

The song was nearing its end, and as they slowed, she found herself taunting him. "In that case my Lord," she began, and allowed him to turn her so he was once more behind her as the final notes keened out, pressed close to her back, one hand splayed on her stomach, dangerously close to her hips. Her arm reached back to circle his neck, letting her fingernails drag over the back of his head and leaning back so she was nearly speaking into his ear, their cheeks brushing. "Perhaps this year, I will make _you_ sing for _me."_

The mask truly brought her a boldness she had never expected to find within herself.

Distantly, as though through water, she heard the crowd break into applause. Had they been dancing alone the whole time?

"Come to my rooms," he said breathlessly, echoing their final conversation from the previous year.

The little voice inside her that had beseeched her to say no the previous year was long since gone. Her wicked grin was all the answer he needed.

* * *

The distant music muffled further as Krista's back hit the door, the Count having pushed her against it to close it, as they kissed feverishly. Her fingers ran eagerly over his chest, undoing clasps and pushing the jacket off his shoulders. He pulled back a moment to tear his mask off his face before diving back in, cupping her jaw and moaning into her mouth and she clutched at him.

The brief glance she'd had of the room told her there was a large bed a few feet behind him, and she pushed against his chest, walking him backwards until they tumbled onto it. He chuckled into her neck when the move forced them to part their kiss, grazing his teeth along the tender flesh.

“I hadn’t expected you to be so forceful,” he said breathlessly, sitting up with her astride him.

Krista smiled, directing his wandering fingers to the laces on the back of her dress. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” she replied enigmatically.

Deft fingers had her laces loosening sooner than she’d expected, and Krista arched against him as he grumbled out a reply against her collarbone. “I’d know more if you’d tell me.”

That was a path she didn’t want to go down, and so to distract him she tangled her fingers in his hair and tilted his head back for another kiss. He shivered when she nipped at his bottom lip. With her laces pulled open, his hands began tracing her bare skin, and she finally pulled away from him to his groaning disapproval. She stepped off of the plush mattress and shrugged the gown off her shoulders, revealing her thigh-high stockings and lace undergarments. 

She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t been _hoping_ for this outcome.

Lucio bit his kiss-swollen lip at the sight of her and scooted to the end of the bed, pulling her between his open legs to kiss at her chest and stomach. She let her head drop back on a sigh, trailing her fingernails through his hair. When she felt his warm breath and fingers tracing the lace edge of her waistband, she blinked her eyes open, peering at him as he grinned up at her before pulling the garment down and away.

“Come here,” he growled, and pulled her forward, adjusting until she was kneeling over his chest and shoulders. She hesitated then, realizing his intent. He only smiled widely at her. “I won’t bite,” he crooned, then winked. “Unless you want me to.”

Unable to help herself, she laughed, and let him pull her forward over his face, self-consciousness forgotten. Searching for balance, she lifted her eyes to the headboard as she placed her hands on it. Using her momentary distraction, Lucio swiftly wrapped his arms around her thighs and pulled her down to him, licking a long, wet line up her center. The movement caused her to fall forward, forcing her to catch herself with palms flat against the wall, breathlessly laughing at his urgency. He chuckled against her in response and she shivered at the sensation. 

His tongue ran wide slick licks along her then, and her head fell forward on a groan, her curls slipping down around her shoulders like a curtain. She blinked her eyes open to look at him only to see his gaze already boring into her. Just as she did so he circled her clit and flicked against it, and her hips jerked forward unintentionally. His arms shifted, gripping the swell of her hips and pulling her close rhythmically, until she caught on and allowed herself to move against him in slow, sensual rolls.

Time dragged on, until her breaths were labored and she had let her head drop back, running her hands over her body without thought. He increased his pace, sucking gently on her and running the flat of his tongue up and down her clit until she cried out, easing up on her as she slowly came back down, legs shaking.

When at last she had control of her breath once more, she shifted down his body until his arms were free, and he sat up to meet her, gripping her waist and pulling her into a kiss, sharing her taste with her. His hands ran up the length of her spine, the metal points of his left making her shiver, and slid them into her hair, when they brushed the tie of her mask, jostling it. While it didn’t move it enough to reveal her face, it surprised them both enough to force them to part, panting and gazing at one another, a question his eyes, fear in hers. After a long moment, Krista raised her hand, hesitated briefly, and flicked it in a practiced spellcasting motion, snuffing out all the candles in the room and the lit fireplace, suffusing them in darkness. At last she lifted her fingers to the tie of her mask, slipping it free, and placed it out of reach.

Lucio reached out to her in the darkness, metal arm resting against her back, comforting, while the fingers of his right came up to trace the features of her bared face. Krista’s breath shuddered, reaching up to clasp his hand as it cupped her cheek. Finally he drew her close to kiss her once more, slow and deep.

While the ferocity between them had dimmed, the intensity had only heightened, and soon Krista felt warmth building in her once more as their kiss turned rough. She rolled her hips against him, nipped at his lip and grinned when he moaned. She trailed her mouth down his neck, delighting in his gasps, and slid her wet core against the length of him, pleased when he growled and dug his fingers into her. He was careful to keep his metal claws from breaking the skin, but they trailed red lines down her back that she would surely feel tomorrow. When she could no longer take the slow seduction, she lifted herself higher up on her knees, reaching between them to guide him into her. They moaned in unison when he entered her, and she teased him by rolling her hips without letting him breach her further.

He hissed against her throat. “You’ll be the death of me, woman.”

She grinned and nipped at his earlobe. “And to think, I’ve barely even started.” With that, she slid down fully on to him, and she felt him drop his head back, his groan vibrating in his chest. She ran her fingers over his collarbones and shoulders, biting her lip in satisfaction. Regaining his senses, he tangled his fingers in her hair and pulled her into another frenzied kiss, bucking up against her to encourage her to move. 

She rocked lazily against him, drawing the moment out for all it was worth, sighing into the dark as their fingers met and intertwined, arching as he mouthed along her neck and clavicle. As heat coiled low in her stomach, she dropped her head to his shoulder, whimpering into his throat as their movements turned harried and jerky. He pressed a kiss to her sweat-damp temple and slid the fingers of his flesh arm out of hers, down her body, until he found her center, rubbing circles against her until she began to quiver.

“Fall with me,” he breathed into her ear, and she shattered, clutching at his shoulder with her free hand, his wrapping tight around her waist as they both cried out, pushing tight against one another with each wave of pleasure. Until at last, it receded, and they were left panting and shuddering in each other’s arms.

When she’d regained her breath, Krista lifted her head from his neck, sheepishly rubbing her thumb along his neck she realized she’d unintentionally bitten him. He chuckled breathlessly and fumbled in the dark for the back of hers, pulling her forward for a kiss.

“You know,” he mumbled against her lips, kissing her between his words as though he couldn’t quite bring himself to stop. “There’s quite a few hours left before the party will be over.” Indeed, she could still hear the music in the hall, distant and muffled though it was. She felt his wicked grin. “And I don’t know if you’ve quite managed to make me sing for you yet.”

She laughed and slid off of him onto her back to relieve her thighs, pulling him over her. “Not to worry, my Lord,” she said as he pressed butterfly kisses to her neck. “The night is still young.”

* * *

Krista grumbled into the pillow her cheek was pressed against. It was too warm. Barely awake, she tried to roll, searching for a cool spot to lay her head, and froze when something tightened around her waist. Senses flooding back quickly into her, she realized she was not lying on a pillow, but on top of Lucio, deeply asleep still. She opened her eyes fearfully, terrified she’d overslept, and sighed in relief when she saw how dim the room was. Grey light was beginning to peek through the curtains that had covered the window the previous night, but only just. It wasn’t quite dawn yet.

She rolled her head up to look at the Count’s face, confirming that he was in fact still asleep, and smiled when she saw his face relaxed face, mouth hanging slightly open. Her heart clenched with fondness - she refused to call it anything else - and she pressed a soft kiss to his chest before gently extricating herself from his hold. Quietly as she could, she made her way around the room, dressing herself and slipping her mask back into place, should she run into anybody in the halls. _Time for the dream to end,_ she thought glumly.

“Leaving so soon?”

Krista jumped with a small gasp, spinning to see him peering at her through sleep heavy eyes. His voice was hoarse and gravely, sending an unbidden shiver through her. She _longed_ to crawl back into the bed to let him continue helping her forget who she was. But morning was swift approaching, and she had another life to live.

“I have to,” she said softly, her reluctance clear in her voice.

He rose from the bed, unashamed in his nakedness, and came to stand before her. “ I don’t understand why you won’t tell me who you are,” he said, brushing his knuckles along her jawline.

“I told you last year,” she replied, heart aching. “You wouldn’t like who I am.”

He frowned. “Shouldn’t I get to decide that?”

That...was a good point.

She bit her lip uncertainly. “I…” a sigh escaped her. “Forgive me for the metaphor,” she said with a watery smile. Tears were threatening. “But...I’, a butterfly here, for a night. I can let myself be free with the mask, but out there…” a mirthless laugh left her. “I’m nothing but a caterpillar. You wouldn’t even recognize me.”

“I think I’d know you anywhere,” he said softly, and the laugh left her again, making him pout at her. “You don’t?”

How she wanted to tell him. He saw her every day of the year. And looked right through her. “Would you know a caterpillar was a butterfly if you didn’t see the transformation? If no one told you that’s what happened?”

He was silent for a long moment, gazing into her eyes, and then rose his chin. “How about this then? Come back next year. But this time, I’ll have a guess for who you are. I’ll use the next year to try and find out. If I’m wrong, I’ll never ask again, and we’ll only meet at the Masquerade.”

Heart pounding, she searched his face and asked: “And if you’re right?”

He smiled and leaned down to press a soft kiss to her lips. “Then you remove your mask,” he breathed against her lips. “And let me prove to you you were a butterfly all along.”

She chuckled, feeling silly for the childish metaphor but somehow so excited and afraid all the same. “Alright,” she said, sniffling. “Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Butterfly kisses.  
Get it? :D  
Comments are eagerly wanted~!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I'm done tormenting you guys ;)

“What are you going to do?” Portia asked, for what Krista estimated was the hundredth time that week.

She sighed heavily, putting down her rag and leaning against the table she’d been cleaning. It had been a few days since the masquerade, and she’d gone over her final conversation with the Count that night over and over, eventually relaying it to Portia. She’d been considerably more excited about the idea of Krista’s identity being discovered than she was. 

“I still don’t know,” she replied. “What can I do?”

Portia side-eyed her as she swept. “You could y’know. _Tell him.”_

Krista pulled a face and gently swatted her arm with her rag. “Yeah. That’d go well.”

“Who says it wouldn’t?” Portia argued, blowing a stray curl out of her face. “He enjoys talking to you anyway, mask or no; he might even be pleased.”

“But that’s not…” Krista trailed off with a sigh. “He’s not..._interested_ in me without it. It’s different.”

“Are you sure?” Portia said dubiously, leaning on her broom. “You’re the only one he pays so much attention to.”

Krista shrugged, averting her eyes. “That’s just because I’m the one who cleans his rooms. He’d be like that with anyone he saw so often.”

“Ravinder was the one who cleaned his rooms before you started. They said he never acted like that with them,” Portia pointed out.

Krista bit her lip, returning to cleaning. “I just...I don’t think he actually wants to know. Maybe it’s just the allure of the mystery you know? Behind the mask I’m just…” she shrugged. “...me.”

“Yeah, and you’re awesome,” Portia said matter of factly, gaining a chuckle from Krista. She smiled. “There she is. Look, I’m not gonna make you tell him, but just think about it, okay?” She patted her shoulder. “You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

Krista sighed again, but nodded. “I’ll think about it.”

* * *

“You know, _you two_ are supposed to be the ones fetching, not me.”

Krista watched with a fond smile on her face as Lucio dutifully went to pick up the stick his dogs had failed to bring back, despite his complaints. She’d heard commotion from outside a few minutes before, and upon coming out to the balcony to investigate, had discovered him playing with Mercedes and Melchior below. Or trying to. Each time he would throw it, they would gleefully chase after it, tussle briefly about who got to have it, and end up forgetting about it entirely moments later. And each time without fail, the Count would walk over to get it, grumbling to himself about how they were teaching _him_ to fetch. It was too endearing not to watch, and she found herself resting her cheek on her palm, leaned over the balcony’s railing, giggling every so often at their antics.

She had to cover her mouth to stifle a louder laugh as the dogs happily pounced on him, tackling him to the ground. This unfortunately put her within his eyesight however, and he noticed her before she could move, shooting her a wide grin and a wave from his prone position. Face pink, she shyly waved back, pulling out her rag to wipe hastily at the railing before heading back inside.

* * *

“What did you _do_ to him?”

Krista looked up at Portia from her hunched over position, pausing in her sweeping. “I’m sorry?”

Portia blew a stray curl out of her face and Krista abruptly noticed that she looked almost stricken. “The Count. Lucio. Have you heard? It must have been you, I mean what else could it have been?”

Krista furrowed her brow as she straightened, confused. “I...what? Did something happen?”

“Everyone’s been talking about it,” Portia continued, pulling out a rag to wipe absently at spotless tables. “He’s been..._nice_ lately. Last week he noticed Leyton was looking ill and told them to take the week off. And when they said they couldn’t afford to go that long without pay he apparently said he was ‘of course going to pay them.’” Portia held up her fingers in air quotes as she spoke, imitating the servant’s voice. “And just a minute ago, out in the hall,” she swung her arm out, gesturing to the door with her waving rag. “He bumped into me. And Krista. He _apologized.”_

Krista blinked.

“He’s...always been like that?” Krista said hesitantly, and winced when Portia scoffed. Yeah, there was no buying that one. “Portia I didn’t _do_ anything, I can’t explain why he’s like this all of the sudden.”

“I bet I can,” Portia said in a sing-song voice, grinning. Krista blushed and turned back to her sweeping, avoiding Portia’s gaze. “Krista, he cares about you, butterfly or not. _You’re_ the reason he’s like this now.” She then muttered: “Must be hard to treat servants the way he has when he’s falling in love with one.”

Krista sputtered. “He’s not - we aren’t - it isn’t like that!”

“Is so,” Portia replied, sticking her tongue out at her.

Krista shot her a look for the childish response, but couldn’t help her lips twitching into a smile. “You’re just trying to convince me to tell him.” She then narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Did you make a bet behind my back or something?”

Avoiding eye contact, Portia continued to wipe at the perfectly clean tables with an innocent expression, not responding.

Krista’s eyes widened slightly. “Portia, you said you wouldn’t tell anyone!”

“I didn’t!” she replied adamantly, spinning to face Krista then. “I swear, no one knows. It’s just...well, everyone’s been wondering who the butterfly at the masquerade is anyway, and now that the Count’s been trying to track down everyone who attended people have worked out that he’s trying to figure out who you are too.” That much was true. Krista had heard him complain more than once since his last party about how he really should have just thought to have a guest book. But that would have ruined the whole _point_ of a masquerade. “And so everyone started guessing at who it might be, if it’s one of the courtiers, or a visiting noble, or someone in the palace. And then Ravinder said we should start a betting pool but there were just _sooooo_ many guesses for who it might be, so instead we made it easy, and decided to just bet on whether or not he figures it out, or if you end up revealing who you are to him.” Portia blinked wide hopeful eyes at her. “So you know. If you were to just go ahead and _tell him…”_

Krista chuckled but shook her head. “I’m not unmasking myself to help you out of your poor financial decisions. That’s on you.”

Portia stuck her tongue out at her once more. _“Fine._ But bet or no bet, I still think you should tell him who you are. You’ve really had an affect on him.”

Krista was silent for a moment, but shook her head once more. “It’s only been a couple of months. I’m amazed he’s stayed interested _this_ long. For all we know, in another month or so, he’ll have completely forgotten about the butterfly.”

Portia rolled her eyes. “Yeah. We’ll see about that.”

* * *

Months passed, and the Count showed no sign of giving up on his search. As the time of the masquerade grew nearer, he took to inviting nobles to the palace for tea and luncheons, trying to work out if they had attended the masquerade or not without directly asking. As it happened, Krista ended up serving the food and drink on most of these occasions, and had to press her lips together to keep from laughing at his often clumsy attempts. It didn’t take her long to realize he had noticed her trouble, and had begun to purposely make more brazen and bizarre accusations in her presence, in an attempt to get her to break and laugh. (He even succeeded once, earning her a very strange and somewhat insulted look from the visiting viscount.)

The rumors of who the ‘Masked Butterfly’ might be grew stronger as the year waned, and she had to try not to wince every time she heard the nickname. What had been meant as a night of freedom and anonymity from her day to day life had earned her a reputation, and a downright _scandalous_ one at that. It didn’t take long for one of the other servants to ask her if she’d like in on the bet, as the pool was evidently growing quite large, and she briefly toyed with the idea of purposely betting against herself. The thought nearly brought a somewhat hysterical laugh to her lips though, and she politely declined. This was already far too complicated.

With only a few weeks left until the masquerade, the Count had taken to sulking in his rooms once more, and while Krista hated to see him depressed, she couldn’t deny a slight relief that he apparently seemed to think he wouldn’t be able to identify her. He often asked her to sit with him during these times, ‘to distract him,’ he’d said, and they’d taken to speaking to one another about their pasts. She’d heard little of his days as a mercenary, and found she quite enjoyed the tales of his younger days. He seemed just as fascinated by her discovery of magic as a child, limited though her skills were. When she left, he always seemed in at least somewhat better spirits than when she’d arrived, and warmth bloomed in her chest at her ability to ease his worries. Even if she was the one that had caused them in the first place.

_It’s better this way,_ she thought to herself often, wondering when she had started to need to convince herself of that, rather than him.

At last there were only a few days left, and Krista found herself growing pensive. One way or another, this was about to be over. If the Count did not guess her identity correctly, they would still see each other once a year, but it would never be quite the same, she knew. Her doubts and insecurities played endless repetitions of him growing bitter at her refusal to tell him who she was, and eventually pulling away from her. Or if he _did_ guess, if he knew who she was? She could see no other option than him feeling misled. Tricked into caring for a servant. She never should have danced with him.

Yet when her mind turned the moment she had put her hand in his, when for a few moments, a few hours, she had been unbridled and _free_...she couldn’t bring herself to regret it.

Unable to sleep and on edge, she rose from her bed to take a walk, hoping to ease her restless fears in the cold night air.

The walk through the palace gardens was soothing, with only occasional dim lights from the palace revealing that anyone other than she was awake. The moon was full and bright, painting the grounds in silvery light, and Krista was relieved to find her mind growing calm. Distantly, she could hear music playing; the band was practicing for the upcoming party.

“What has you wandering about at this hour?”

Krista nearly jumped out of her skin, and spun to see the Count standing at the intersection of one of the garden paths, arms folded as he watched her curiously. She put a hand to her hammering heart, face flushing when he chuckled.

“Did I scare you?” he asked, still chortling.

Krista huffed, brushing imaginary lint off her shoulder. “Maybe a little. I didn’t expect anyone else to be up so late.”

“Neither did I,” he said, and Krista noticed then that his eyes looked strained. He cleared his throat and glanced away. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Krista bit her lip and twisted her fingers together, unsure how to answer. “I just...have a lot on my mind.”

“I know how you feel,” he said on a sigh. The dejection in his eyes was so poignant her heart _ached._ For a moment she very nearly blurted out who she was to him, the words dancing on the tip of her tongue before she swallowed them away. 

A cold gust of wind stirred the skirt of her gown, and she pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. The only sound in the air that of the band distantly easing into a new song. Her brow furrowed when she noticed it sounded familiar, and had to bite back a small laugh when she realized why. It was the same one they had danced to the first time, nearly two years ago. She couldn’t help glancing up to see if the Count recognized it too, and a small smile stretched her lips when she a slightly wistful one on his own, eyes far away. Abruptly, his gaze met hers, and his expression turned mischievous as he held out his hand.

“Care to dance?” he asked with a tilt of his head.

Krista froze, trying not to sputter. “I...here?”

“Why not? It’s not as if anyone would see us.” He shot her a grin. “Afraid you’ll trip?”

_It’s good an excuse as any,_ her panicked mind supplied. “Yes,” she blurted out quickly. “I can’t - I’m a...terrible dancer.”

“You’re a worse liar,” he laughed. “I could use the practice before the masquerade.” She highly doubted that, and eyed his outstretched hand warily as he wiggled his fingers. “Please?”

Her eyes shot back up to his. He’d said _please._

Maybe Portia had been onto something.

Cautiously, the voice in her head telling her this was a bad idea growing suspiciously quiet, she placed her hand in his, letting him pull her closer.

No words passed between them as they swayed to the gentle rhythm, and Krista found herself unable to break away from his gaze. She’d half-expected him to try and impress her, spinning and lifting her as he had the first time they’d danced. Instead he only held her close, expression more soft and open than she’d ever seen. Despite the slow and simple steps, her heart pounded in her chest, so loud in her own ears she wouldn’t be surprised if he could hear it. His fingers slid up and down her spine in a manner that was just as soothing as it was exhilarating.

When the song at last came to a close, they stopped moving, but did not draw away from each other. The band had stopped for the night, and there was a long moment with no sound but their breathing. She felt his hand trail up her back as he continued to stare at her, until it at last lifted to cup her cheek. Her breath caught in her throat as his fingers traced her features, remembering vividly how he had done this in the darkness of his room, both of them tangled in sheets together, as though he’d been trying to memorize her before she flew away from him once more. Her eyelids dropped to half-mast as his hand shifted to curl under her chin, as he drew nearer, as they-

“Krista?”

They both jumped apart, breath heaving at the call of her name from somewhere in the garden. _Portia!_ Krista realized, fingers briefly fluttering up to her lips, unable to meet the Count’s - Lucio’s - gaze now. 

“I - I should…” she trailed off wordlessly, vaguely gesturing in the direction Portia had called from, managing to dart her eyes up to his face to gauge his reaction. He too had looked away, eyes trained on some faraway point, fingers resting just below his mouth. He looked nearly stricken. She couldn’t tell if that was a good or a bad thing. _Which was worse?_

“I...yes, go ahead,” he said distractedly, glancing over at her, and then away again when Portia called her name once more, from a bit further away. “Go on.”

Krista hesitated a moment longer, then tugged her shawl tighter around her shoulders once more, rushing off further into the garden. 

_What had just happened?!_

* * *

Krista stared at the mask lying on her vanity, feeling almost as though it were staring back. She reached out to brush the delicate filigree of the butterfly wing with a heavy sigh, thoughts awhirl. She’d donned the gown almost numbly, unable to stop her mind from turning to the night in the garden, when she and Lucio had nearly..._had_ he been about to kiss her? 

When she’d found Portia (who’d apparently gone looking for her in her room and grown worried when she wasn’t there) she’d ushered her back into the palace and unloaded the story to her in a breathless rush, confused and jittery. Portia had predictably been elated, and very nearly squealed as she hugged Krista, followed almost immediately by an apology for interrupting and yet another plea for her to tell him. For the first time Krista had actually found herself considering the idea, and had almost talked herself into walking to his rooms to reveal her identity, before fear had leaked into her veins once more. Portia had sighed in frustration, but comforted her all the same, and assured her that everything would turn out alright in the end. Krista wasn’t so sure she believed that, but it had been nice to hear.

If he had been about to kiss her...what did that mean? Had he recognized her after all? Had he not, and instead felt something for her, as Krista, rather than the butterfly? Had he simply been caught up in the moment? What would have happened if Portia hadn’t gone looking for her? Her face flushed as she remembered what usually followed kisses between the two of them, and shook her head to clear the thought, but couldn’t quite rid the memory of his hand on her cheek, skin warm and comforting against the chill of the night.

She pressed her lips together as she heard music begin to drift in from down in the ballroom, drawing a shaky breath. It was now or never. She glanced up to the mirror, meeting her own gaze, altered appearance more familiar than it should be considering she’d only donned it twice. She lifted the mask to her face, tightening the ties, telling herself she was only imagining that it felt as though it was the last time she’d ever wear it.

* * *

Whispers followed her through the ballroom as she walked in, holding her chin aloft and refusing to meet anyone’s gaze. She hoped she looked unperturbed and proud, despite the distress twisting in her stomach. The need to fidget and bolt somewhere she could hide was strong, and she swiped a glass of champagne from a passing servant almost immediately, downing it more quickly than was probably appropriate. She’d hoped to quell her nerves, but was frustratingly disappointed.

The party had only just begun, and she knew that Lucio had yet to make an appearance. ‘Fashionably late,’ he’d once told her liked to be - as Krista, not the butterfly, _Gods this was getting confusing_ \- and when she’d laughed and said that didn’t make any sense when it was _his_ party he’d admitted he simply liked to make a grand entrance. She couldn’t help smiling a little at the thought. He was nothing if not dramatic.

As if on cue, the thinly-veiled murmurs around her turned to excited chattering, as guests’ heads turned to the staircase. Krista felt her muscles grow tight, and her breath caught as she turned to look as well, as the crowd grew quiet and began to part. At last there was no one between her and the stairs, where the Count stood at the top, gaze on her at once. Only the occasional whisper from the crowd disturbed the near silence, tension heavy in the air as wide eyes darted between Krista and the Count.

They however, had eyes for no one but one another.

Krista tried to slow her frantically racing heart as they began to step towards each other, he down the steps to her and she across from the end of the ballroom. Even the music seemed tense with anticipation, the sounds from the strings drawing out for a moment longer, a crescendo slowly building as they met in the middle. They did nothing but watch each other briefly, until he reached out to grip her fingers in his, raising her hand to his lips to kiss her knuckles. A shuddering breath escaped her lungs, and she wondered when she’d started to hold her breath as he guided her into position and began to sway in time. She hardly thought of the steps as they turned together, moving seamlessly, as though they’d been dancing with each other all their lives, instead of the precious few times they had. Though she knew they were being watched closely, she felt no one’s gaze but his, feeling like they were the only two people in the room.

“You know,” he finally began, quietly enough that she knew no one else could hear. “I’d started to get pretty scared that I wouldn’t be able to figure it out. Who you are. But then...” 

Krista’s hand tightened on his shoulder, eyes wide as he trailed off. “Then?” she asked, breathless.

He smiled. “Well. Then you danced with me in the garden.” Her eyes closed for a moment, another shaking breath leaving her. His hand stroked her back, reassuring her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She swallowed hard. “I was afraid,” she admitted in a small voice. “Whenever we talked it...it never seemed like you felt the same way about me as you do when we’re here.” He chuckled, pulling her closer. “What?”

He glanced away for a moment, actually looking sheepish, but still smiling. “I’ve been...conflicted. About the way I’ve felt about you and...well _you_ apparently.” He laughed quietly again at her bemused expression. “I was so determined to figure out who you were behind this mask, the whole time also finding myself growing fond of you as just...you. I was angry with myself, thinking I had fooled myself into thinking I felt more for you than I actually did, or that even though I’ve never felt this way about anyone before I’d managed to go and suddenly do so for two people at once.” He huffed at her, but she noticed he couldn’t quite keep the grin from his face. “And you were the same person all along.”

Krista blinked, gaping for a moment, before a laugh left her as well, and she ducked her head. “I had no idea,” she chuckled. “I...I thought you’d be so angry, or disappointed, when you found out it was no one but _me.”_

“Are you kidding? I’m thrilled.” he replied, pressing his cheek to her hair as they spun together. She could hear excited chatter from the crowd now (one voice very distinctly Portia’s.) “This has been bothering me for the past year at least,” he grumbled against her head, gaining another laugh from her.

“That long?” she asked, unable to stop smiling.

He hummed in reply. “Well, that’s when I noticed it at least. How I felt about you. I think I’d felt that way for a lot longer though.”

She closed her eyes once more, feeling lighter than air. “What made you realize it in the garden?”

He thought for a moment, moving her into a spin as he ruminated, pulling her back to look into her eyes once more. “I actually realized it the next night. When we were dancing, when I was going to kiss you…” he reached up to stroke her cheek for a moment. “All I was thinking about then was you.” They shared a grin. “And I was sort of fighting with myself, trying to figure out why I felt the same way for you as I did about my butterfly, and how you felt almost the same in my arms...and it just hit me.” He gave her an unconvincing glare. “I’ll have you know I felt pretty stupid because of that. I can’t believe I didn’t notice right off.”

She laughed again, surprised to find herself having to choke back tears. “Well,” she said, grinning. “What can I say? I _am_ pretty good at magic.”

He laughed once more, and pulled her into an embrace as the song ended. Applause startled them both, and they looked up to see the crowd still watching, cheering for the clearly happy reunion they’d just had. She met his gaze shyly, blushing at the wide grin he gave her, and squeaked when he pressed one hand to the back of her neck and pulled her into a kiss, drawing more uproarious cheers from the crowd of onlookers. Unable to help herself, she laughed against his lips, and he pulled back to kiss her cheek, his shaking shoulders telling her he was laughing as well.

* * *

They danced long into the night, for the first time staying for the party, and Lucio delighted in being able to introduce her by name to the dozens of people who asked. More than once Krista saw coins being subtly passed between servants as her identity was revealed, and got another laugh from Lucio when she mentioned the bet to him. Portia eventually dragged her away for another dance, smirking the whole time and happily sing-songing “I told you so!” when Krista sighed and told her to just say it already.

Lucio quickly pulled her back to his side, kissing her cheeks and forehead at various times, totally unabashed in his affection for her. She caught a few glares from the courtiers who usually followed him about, and couldn’t deny a bit of satisfaction in being able to shoot them a bright smile in response. 

As the night wore on the guests thinned out further and further, until no one was left but the two of them, dancing to one last song before the band left for the evening. Her mind was a touch hazy from drink and joy, and let her head rest against his shoulder as they moved, simply swaying together rather than following any particular steps. When the last note quieted, he pulled away from her to press a soft kiss to her knuckles once more, bringing a sleepy smile to her face. 

“Come with me?” he murmured against her skin.

She gently pulled her hand from his grasp and laid it on his shoulder as she drew close, pressing her lips to his. “Yes.”

* * *

There was no mad dash to his rooms, only slowly building anticipation as they walked through the halls, quiet in the late hour. When the door had closed behind them he cupped her face in his hands to kiss her once more, and curled his knuckles under chin when she deepened it, sighing into her mouth. One hand came up to the ties of her mask and she instinctively stiffened, causing him to pull back.

He watched her for a moment, and stroked her cheek. “You don’t have to be afraid to be who you are with me,” he said quietly.

She took a shaky breath and nodded, reaching up to undo the ties herself. Her fingers trembled as she pulled the mask away, setting it aside and meeting his eyes again. He only smiled and kissed her once more, wrapping his arms around her waist to pull her close. Feeling more free than she could ever remember feeling, she twined her arms around his neck, squeaking when he pulled her up off her feet, grinning against her lips as he walked her over to the bed. By the time he set her down she was laughing, pressing butterfly kisses to his neck.

“And you called me impatient,” she said, breath hitching as he tilted her chin up to run his lips down her throat.

He chuckled and nipped at her skin, making her shiver. “Who said I’m not too?”

She grinned and pressed close to run her teeth over his earlobe as his fingers went to the laces of her gown. Once loosened, he pulled her back to drag her into another deep kiss, hands tightening on her waist. She pushed him back so she could stand and let the fabric fall to her feet, sliding her hands under his jacket to push it from his shoulders. He pressed kisses to her collarbone as she helped him disrobe, laughing when she scolded him for distracting her. At last she pulled him back to the bed with her, both of them bare, and entwined their fingers together as he crawled over her. He smiled against her lips and pulled his hand away, shushing her when she frowned at him. “I’m going to need my good hand for this,” he chuckled, kissing down her chest to her breasts, laving his tongue over one hardened nipple and watching her arch. His hand smoothed down over her curves as he ran his tongue against her, sliding it between her thighs and grinning when she moaned. He continued to stroke along her folds as he worshipped her breasts, groaning when she began to writhe under him.

Eventually she could stand it no longer and pulled him up by the shoulders to kiss him once more, one hand curling into his hair. He entwined their fingers once more as he pressed his forehead to hers, letting her reach down to guide him into her. They both groaned as their hips met, and she pressed her lips to his once more as he began to move slowly. Her legs wrapped around his waist as heat built between them, the claws of his mechanical arm digging into the sheets. She pressed her hips up to meet his, pressing little kisses to his cheeks, shoulders, anywhere she could reach as he moaned into her neck.

At last she could feel herself being pulled to edge, and dug her nails into his back as she climbed higher. His movements became erratic, until he pulled her tight against him and moaned her name. With that she fell, arching under him as delicious heat ran through her veins, down to the very tips of her fingers, and held him close to her as they came down together as one.

He wrapped his arms around her as their breathing slowed, face still pressed to her neck. When he finally pulled back to look at her with a pleased sigh, he was smiling, and she found herself having to fight back tears again as he kissed her.

* * *

Krista stretched lazily in the crisp sheets as she woke slowly, warm sunlight painting her skin. She smiled when she felt a hand come up to rest on her waist, and peeked her eyes open to see Lucio watching her with a smile. She scooted closer, sighing happily when he wrapped his arm around her, stroking her back. She nuzzled into his chest, shivering a little when he grazed a scratch on her back from their long night together. He chuckled and kissed the top of her head, moving his fingers to stroke through her hair instead. She pulled back to look at him when she noticed him lifting one of her curls in his hand.

He met her gaze and explained. “I like it better this way,” he said. “The color. The black was nice, but this suits you.”

She smiled. “Thank you. The spell was surprisingly easy to learn, actually.”

He hummed in reply. “I saw it change back, when the sun came up. It was sort of pretty to watch.” He stroked her cheek with the back of his knuckles. “But this is better.”

She laughed quietly, and squeaked when he abruptly pulled her close, burying his face in her neck. Another small chuckle escaped her before she wrapped her arms around him, feeling as though her heart was so full it might burst. He mumbled something against her neck and she pulled back to look at him. “What was that?”

He watched her for a long moment before pressing a soft kiss to her lips and sighing against her mouth “I love you.”

A wide smile slowly bloomed on her face, and she pulled him into a more enthusiastic kiss, laughing with him. “I love you too.” She then grinned and hooked her leg over his, pushing him onto his back, gaining a wicked smile from him. “And I am nowhere _near_ through with you.”

He chuckled and wrapped an arm around her waist, sitting up to bite at her neck. “Good,” he said, smiling when let her head drop back. “Because we have a lot of lost time to make up for.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's done! *faint*
> 
> I've been absolutely floored by how much people have liked this, so thank you to every single one of you that has left a comment or kudos! It's starting to look like writing about Lucio and Krista is just my thing 😅
> 
> I promise the Labyrinth fic is coming next, which should be somewhere around nine chapters, so it'll be another long one! I'm also thinking of doing a Princess Bride AU, but that would be with my other apprentice Lilith and Julian, so if you're looking for something different, stay tuned for that!
> 
> In any case, it's been a joy writing this for you all, and I wish you the best!
> 
> Happy reading! :)


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